The Bittersweet Embrace of Time
by crankyman7
Summary: With his best friend gone and his retirement imminent, Mr. Litwak contemplates his own advancing age, and the future of his arcade.


**Author's Note**

Its still November the 2nd as I publish this oneshot, in honor of the second anniversary of Wreck-It Ralph. I figured most people wouldn't be using Mr. Litwak in any anniversary fics they wrote, and I wanted to do something different. So, here's the result. This one is set in my ongoing fanon universe for the film, and takes place some years after the events of _Pangs of Confusion, A Dying World_ and _Search and Rescue_. While you might possibly get more out of it with knowledge of those fics -or at least of _A Dying World_- I did take care to write it such that it could stand pretty well on its own. At any rate, I hope you enjoy it.

**November 2nd, 2014**

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><p><strong>The Bittersweet Embrace of Time<strong>

By Crankyman7

"When pigs fly, you can avoid retirement. See you around, Stan."

And with a laugh, Albert Rae had cut off the call. Mr. Litwak recalled his friend's words well.

They had been the last ones he had ever heard the man speak.

He already knew the sting of losing a loved one. He had felt that pain when his father died, had felt it again as his mother breathed her last in front of him. He knew what it was to watch someone he cared about slip away into the next life, to surrender their souls into the hands of God. He knew that pain.

The pain was different when a loved one died out of his sight.

He had received the news shortly almost immediately: his best friend had been in a car accident and was in critical condition. He'd booked the first flight to California and left as quickly as possible. Yet by the time he'd arrived at the Rae's house, he'd known, somehow. They hadn't told him yet, but he'd known. Albert had died that morning, and he hadn't been there.

He didn't blame himself. He didn't rage against the heavens. He didn't complain about the injustice of it all. It was what it was, and he was too logically minded to foolishly believe that he could have done anything differently than he had.

And none of those things made him feel any less empty.

He hadn't cried at the funeral, nor had he done so in the presence of his friend's family. As a matter of fact, he had been outwardly composed throughout the entirety of his time in California. It wasn't until he had returned to Wilberforce, and was back in the privacy of his own home, that he finally wept.

He didn't cry again after that. He moved on with his life. He carried on with the business of running the arcade that his precious friendship had inspired him to open.

The emptiness was still there. It would never go away. He was too old not to feel the passage of time weaving its way through his life, enveloping him in its bittersweet folds. He did not despair- he did not believe in despair. But, as he locked the arcade doors for the night on a Friday evening five months after the funeral, he remembered his friend's final words to him, and he felt their truth emanate from his aching joints.

It had been five years since his heart attack- all the time that the doctors had given him. He had acknowledged the reality at the time. Five years more years was a blessing he knew he might not have had, that his condition might have proven serious enough to prompt immediate retirement. But for all his rationality, even he ended up falling prey to denial. A half-hearted denial he could see through if he tried, but a denial nonetheless.

"You've earned your rest", Albert had told him. "Take it easy. Trust me- retirement's fun."

In the end, Albert had only been allowed to enjoy retirement for four and a half years, before God had called his soul. But he, Stan Litwak, would have to begin it only now. God only knew how long he had. But he could no longer avoid it.

_It's time to let Johnson take the helm._

He smiled.

_Technically, it's Mr. Johnson_._ But he never did care for the Mr.-part. I guess that's what comes of my teasing him with it when he was little, and would always stop in here._

Clearly, his chosen successor hadn't let such a legacy stop him from taking a job at his childhood haunt. And Mr. Litwak was glad that it hadn't. Johnson had an obvious affection for the arcade itself that bled over into his job performance. It didn't always manifest itself in the same way as Litwak's own affection did. Where he was effusive, Johnson was more restrained, more subtle. But he could see it in the man's eyes, could hear it in his speech- Johnson loved this arcade as much as he did. Which is why, one year after the heart attack, Mr. Litwak had approached his employee about the prospect of being his successor.

At first, Johnson had been reluctant. He wasn't the right man for the job, he said. He couldn't ever be ready. Mr. Litwak had scoffed at these notions, his tone playful but his meaning perfectly serious.

"I can groom you as my successor with ease," he had said. "That's not an issue. You're my top choice, after all. What I need to know is whether you'll be able to work with me- whether you _want_ this."

"Put that way, sir," Johnson had replied, offering a rare grin, "I don't see how I could think of refusing."

Thus the line of succession, as it were, had been secured.

Mr. Litwak's eyes, which had fallen shut, snapped open.

_It's late. I need to get some sleep. Tomorrow, I'll make the announcement, set the date. And then I'll need to alert my _other_ friends. They'll want to know that the time has come at last. We agreed that Johnson could know the truth when he took over. _

_Oh man, he's going to _love_ this…_

As he headed for his car, the empty feeling returned. But this time, it was just a little less intense than before.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading this. As always, feedback -whether positive, negative, or both- is welcome. <strong>


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